


What you do to survive

by megyal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-09
Updated: 2007-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-23 14:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Draco Malfoy slinks out dressed in a full-white suit and smiling like he owns the whole strip-club and everyone in it, that cruel little half-sneer which makes Harry's hand shake just a little, the whole place goes wild.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What you do to survive

**Author's Note:**

> Monday Fun prompt for [](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/profile)[**slythindor100**](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/) : What you do to survive
> 
> tagged by [](http://restunwritten.livejournal.com/profile)[**restunwritten**](http://restunwritten.livejournal.com/) with the prompt **it'll turn your heart black** (from 'Devils and Dust' by Bruce Springsteen).

The first thing Harry does when he steps inside the club is to light up a cigarette and inhale deep in relief. Hermione doesn't allow smoking at the new headquarters and he's tried to give it up, really, but it's the only vice he has. Everybody needs at least one vice. His lip twists a little as he takes a seat in a shadowed booth to the side of the stage; he ignores the inviting stares coming from both patrons and waiters, crossing his legs and draping his arm across the back of the plush seat.

"Drinking something, buddy?" A waiter asks at his elbow, a hint of an extra offer threaded through his American accent. Harry nods, shaking off the grogginess of trans-Atlantic Portkey, and orders a Guinness.

"Anything else?" The waiter says, patient and sly at the same time, when he returns with Harry's drink. Harry runs his free hand down the side of the bottle, feeling the chill of condensation before picking it up to take a long swig. The waiter's eyes are fixed on his the whole time. "We really like having English guys inside... here."

Harry's smile is small and cool. The waiter is blond, but it is a soft honeyed colour and his eyes are too blue.

"I'll know what I'm looking for when I find it," he says and the waiter winks at him ruefully as he leaves.

There is a fireman onstage and Harry thinks it is against every fire-code ever made for him to be taking off his suit like that. His gaze flicks around the crowd, taking in the large number of men yelling and whistling, some of them nuzzling each other in the welcoming dark. A group of women are sitting about four booths away from his and they are chattering among each other and squealing with delight when the fireman strides off-stage and writhes in front of them.

"Alright, alright," the announcer says with a grin as Fireman Joe finishes up his set and goes backstage. "Yeah, we know what you like. You got some fire, now you get some ice. Help me welcome Bobbie onstage, you guys."

The atmosphere becomes even more excited and the women shush each other and get up to stand right at the edge of the stage, giggling at each other as they clutch money in their fists. Harry tries not to smile as he lights another cigarette.

The house lights go down and when they come back up, there is a white gauzy curtain to the back of the high stage. A slender figure is backlit behind it, little wings poking to the sides. When Draco Malfoy slinks out dressed in a full-white suit and smiling like he owns the whole strip-club and everyone in it, that cruel little half-sneer which makes Harry's hand shake just a little, the whole place goes wild.

Malfoy purses his lips as he shrugs off the white feathery wings, the black straps sliding down his arms. He drops them near the edge of the stage and raises his hands to stretch like a debauched angel, the look in his eyes smoky and knowing as he brings his hands down to unbutton the jacket. He moves as if he dances for the devil, slinking curvy lines and Harry beckons to the waiter and asks him a question. The waiter looks up at Malfoy hooking his thumbs into the waistband of those innocent-white trousers, wriggling his slim hips while the tip of his tongue slides across the top row of his teeth as he grins.

The women shriek, the men yell and the waiter frowns.

"Yeah, we _have_ back-rooms, but Bobbie doesn't do that sort of--"

"He will," Harry says, tapping idly into the ash-tray. "Tell him Potter wants to see him."

*

Harry likes the Navy Room. It's small and decorated with a deep blue that is soothing on the eyes. He is sitting back in the bed, feeling comfortable against the pile of pillows when Malfoy opens the door and steps in, his eyes lidded and shuttered. He is wearing a white and blue _yukata_ draped elegantly around his form as he leans back against the door, tossing long strands of hair out of his eyes. Harry is on his third cigarette, feeling proud of himself for not blasting through a whole pack by this time.

"Potter," Malfoy says in a flat voice, not moving from the door. "Has no-one ever told you about the dangers of smoking? It'll turn your heart black."

"I think you mean the lungs, _Bobbie_ ," Harry says, watching as Malfoy's eyes slit down to glittering, hateful lines, eyelashes stroking against the pale sheen that is his hair. "In any case, it's far too late for you to be concerned with my heart."

"You assume I ever _was_ ," Malfoy hisses, reaching behind himself to turn the door-handle. Harry is off the bed and pinning him against the door before he can slither out, but Harry forgets how fast Malfoy was trained to be when he makes a twisting move with his entire body and Harry is flung away to land on his back near the bed. He sees a flash of pale leg as Malfoy whirls to yank the door open and Harry hates him so very much for running, that fucking coward, and he hates himself even more for chasing him; Harry Disapparates from his prone position on the floor and appears with a pop right in front of Malfoy as he runs out into the dim empty hallway, flinging his arms around him and forcing him back into the Navy Room.

He charges them both to the bed, Malfoy struggling every step of the way, wrapping a long strong leg around one of Harry's in an effort to put him off-balance. They simply topple onto the bed and Harry can't decide on whether to hold him down or run a hand up the part in the robe to see if he has anything on underneath, so he tries to do both as he straddles the writhing form. Malfoy goes completely still when Harry's thumb strokes against a nest of fine hairs; he bites his lip and tries to control his breathing.

"Is that what you wanted all this time?" Malfoy says and Harry wonders how he manages to drawl at a time like this, when one of Harry's hands is wrapping around him with aching familiarity, squeezing with the exact amount of pressure. "We could have arranged something."

"You know what I want," Harry snaps and Malfoy whispers all the right spells, so that Harry's clothes melt away from his body and he is clean and slick inside. Harry closes his eyes. "Oh, god, Draco. Please."

"Do you believe," Draco says, the _yukata_ unfurling lazily to reveal everything Harry ever wanted, "That your precious Ministry will pardon me even after all I've done?" He reaches a hand between them and presses one finger roughly up into Harry; he hisses at the sensation and moans when one finger slips out and two fingers slip back in, turning and opening and pressing so very wonderfully. "You are a fool if you think if it will all work out."

"I want to... I'll protect you if you come back," Harry pants, hips moving in soft circles, inviting, begging.

"You can't." Draco is hot and hard against his palm; Harry rises and bends forward a little, not looking at Draco's face. He holds Draco's cock upright and slides back, feeling it tunnel into him, burning into his hate and fear, brushing away the memories of death and dishonour, of dusty battlefields. He moves on top of Draco the same way he saw him dance, arching and panting, trying to keep him.

When he comes, he is whispering hoarsely for Draco to come back with him and Draco's fingers are bruising his hips as he says he has to survive and he _will_.

*

The Minister of Magic tries not to look too thunderous as Harry explains that the strip-club lead was false.

"My dear boy," Minister Hornbower says, twirling his moustache in an action that Harry hates, "Malfoy is one of our most wanted, you know."

"Yes, despite the fact he gave us information all through the war," Harry says in a tight voice.

"But there is no proof of that," the Minister replies companionably, his creased face smug and condescending. "Only your word. Sometimes even the word of a Hero is not enough. But soon," he continues, still smiling like a fox that has been in the hen-house, "we can undo the curses set on the Malfoy fortune and it will be in the hands of the Ministry... under my personal protection, of course. We can hunt down the other potential dark wizards--"

"I wish you luck with that," Harry says abruptly, sliding a folded parchment towards the Minister. His written resignation, effective immediately, causes the lines in the Minister's face to deepen; Harry gives him a curt nod and walks out of the building with three objects in his robe-pockets: one key for his own Gringott's safe, a scrap of paper outlining the disabling of the Malfoy curses and a wide blue band of cloth, such as one used to secure a _yukata_ , carefully folded. This last object literally quivers against Harry's body, with the power of a Portkey charmed to pull to extremely far locations.

Such as a little _finca_ in Argentina, once a gift for Narcissa Black.

Harry smiles just a little, smoke curling out of his nostrils as he walks easily to the bank, feeling his heart lighten.

**Author's Note:**

> [A yukata](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Mens_yukata.JPG) is like a light kimono that can be worn by men as well. _Finca_ is Spanish for farmstead. Thanks for the translation, [](http://lire-casander.livejournal.com/profile)[**lire_casander**](http://lire-casander.livejournal.com/).


End file.
